Meet Miss Väinämöinen
by smileintears
Summary: An absurdly fluffy story that involes Berwald/Tino, curling, the Sochi 2014 Winter Olympics, and cross-dressing. A.U., human names used, some slight languge.


**I must ask, please forgive me for any OOC-ness, cultural mistakes, and most imprtantly for putting this crap idea into writing. If there's anything that you can advise or that needs to be changed, please, don't hesitate to let me know! I'm not expert on Swedish or Finnish culture, curling, or the Olympics. Take this for what it is- an excuse to write Tino in drag.**

**Enjoy!**

_**Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING.**_

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"Steady… Steady…st-OWOWOWOW!"

The clatter of a mascara brush colliding with the bowl of a sink echoed about the walls of the empty hotel bathroom with the seethes of a Finnish man in pain. A speck of the cursed black goop had managed to fall in his eye. He pressed the palm of his hand against his burning eye which had already begun to water. After a few deep breaths he pulled his hand away, looking through blurred vision at his black-smudged palm and slowly turned to his waiting reflection in the mirror. His left eye was fine- decently lined with every lash coated and curled, lid dusted with just the perfect shade and a hint of shimmer. But now the right one was an utter catastrophe- shadow, liner and mascara smeared around a watery and now increasingly bloodshot eye. All his painstaking effort had gone to waste.

"Perkele…" he muttered. He was tempted now more than ever to throw the cosmetics down the toilet and forget about the whole experience. Instead he picked the lost brush from the sink and thrust it angrily in its tube, muttering to himself as he ran some warm water to wash his face. "Damn it Berwald, you owe me…"

Berwald Oxenstierna had been the talk of the Winter Olympic world for quite some time, and had been bringing attention to the sport of curling for even longer, being a fresh, handsome (and surprisingly young) face with talent to boot. After several stunning performances with the World Curling Tour he had become the sport's poster child and most recently, the newest member of the Swedish Olympic Curling Team for the 2014 Winter Olympics. Where the poor, painted man, a.k.a. Tino Väinämöinen, came into the curling prodigy's life was unknown to most people.

A chance meeting at a small bookstore in Stockholm is where it all started: Tino, who was adjusting to life in the capital city after a childhood in his native Finland followed by an adolescence in Eskilstuna, was checking out what the town's little nooks and crannies had to offer. Berwald was just looking for some reading material to wind down with after a hard day of work and training. Hands brushed, or rather bumped as both men reached for the last copy of the same periodical. Tino could have sworn the man was glaring at him; he had a look that shook him to his knees. After some stuttered apologies and a brief exchange of: "take it… no, you take it, I insist," introductions were made and Tino left the store with the magazine in hand and butterflies in his stomach.

Butterflies which promptly returned in the next time he found the very same Swede at the very same store, purchasing the latest release of that very same periodical.

A bit of cautious joking and reintroduction lead to conversation and after a walk around the same block about four times, an exchange of numbers and the promise of a shared meal to come. Perhaps it was- dare it be said- a date? Regardless of what it was called, the situation was repeated many times over whenever possible and had developed into a two-year whirlwind of emotions, dates, fears, annoying nick-names and indisputable affection. In other words, a relationship.

Honestly, Tino couldn't have been happier. Nor could he be any prouder of his favorite Swede. Normally he wouldn't have given a second thought to traveling to anywhere with Berwald. However there was a problem...

Berwald was a male. Tino was a male. They were both males- males in a romantic relationship.

Tino knew that gay Olympic athletes were shown in a different light, and had too much attention diverted away from their accomplishments and onto their personal lives, reducing their talent to the level of tabloid gossip. With so many eyes on this new and unusual Olympic star, this was something they had to try to avoid. Tino wanted to go to Sochi with his lover, he wanted to be at every match and be his biggest cheerleader as he had for the past two years, but he wasn't about to let Berwald be known as "that gay curler."

He tried many excuses many times to convince Berwald it was okay to let him stay behind, but to no avail:

_"We c'ld win th' gold this ye'r," The Swede grunted to him, two hands placed firmly against the Finn's shoulders. " 'Nd besides, y've been m'biggest supp'rt . I'm n't lettin' ya stay."_

_Tino sighed in defeat. "Okay..." he felt toned arms wrap around his back and tighten around his significantly thinner form. A weight rested upon the crown of his head. _

_"I l've ya..." Berwald breathed into the wispy blonde strands. _

_"I love you too."_

_"...m'wife."_

_"BERWALD!"_

The scene had replayed in Tino's mind all morning as he continued to dress, or rather, transform himself. He sucked in a breath as he fastened the tiny black hooks of his body-shaper, squirming at the pressure against his torso. To its credit, the product did its job- Tino's otherwise linear waist now had a hint of an hourglass figure. He continued to admire his reflection from various angles until he became aware of exactly what he was doing. Embarrassed with himself, he fumbled with the frilly bra (something he never thought he'd see again after moving out of his parents' house) that was packed away under layers of more gender-appropriate clothing, resolving to fasten the damn thing in the front and turn it around before pulling the straps over his shoulders. He reached into the innermost compartment of his suitcase and pulled a pair of foam sacks- "breast forms" according to a blog he found while searching for information on how to actually pull this stunt off. Despite the glittering text of the titles and the fact that every time the page loaded it began to play "It's Raining Men," it was actually quite helpful. He silently muttered a word of thanks to "Mama Feliks"… whoever that was, exactly.

He stuffed the breast forms into the obviously empty cups and gave his chest a little experimental shake, feeling discomfort as the fabric rubbed and pulled against his shoulders and the lumps on his chest swished side-to-side. "Oh how lucky to be born tit-less," he grumbled as he began stuffing his hair under a wig cap.

Initially Berwald wasn't quite so open to the idea:

"…_Y'want t' what?"_

"_You heard me. I'll be there. I'll be at all your matches. I'll just be… somebody else...in a sense…" _

"_Tino-"_

"_Berwald, I want you to be known for your talent, not the fact that you go to bed with another man at night."_

"_But-"_

"_Look, you want me there, and I want to be there. Please, just trust me on this."_

"_Okay…" the tall man huffed. Slowly his grimace turned into slight smirk. "Ya kn'w, though..."_

"_What?" Tino asked a hint of uneasiness in his voice. _

"_This me'ns…that y're r'lly m'wife." He gave a faint snort at the end of his sentence. "Or g'rlfr'nd 'tleast."_

_Tino threw his hands in the air in an exaggeration of his irritation. "Oh, for God's sake!"_

_Berwald only laughed quietly._

Finally, Tino had managed to squeeze his head through the iron grip of a dark turtle neck and slipped on a pair of loose slacks. After a few test runs, he realized that no matter how hard he tried he would never be able to wear high heels and imitate the feminine saunter at the same time. He opted for a pair of low boots instead. His nose twitched as his scalp began to itch beneath the blonde wig on his head. It was pretty enough- shoulder length with gently curved layers that framed his face and nicely angled bangs- essentially a feminine version of what he already had. At least it was something familiar. He began to brush it and style it into place, almost hypnotized by the motion of pulling the brush through the strands and immediately following its path with his hands. After the fake hair was adequately adjusted, he felt around the little cosmetic bag for the tube subtly colored lipstick. He swiped the stick of color across his lips and capping it, stood back to look at himself.

No longer was he Tino. He was now Louhi Väinämöinen.

He blinked at his reflection in disbelief. It felt awkward, but he had to give himself credit for being quite the convincing lady-boy. Mama Feliks would be proud. The strands of a pop song entered his head and he began to dance around in the tiled space, only to jump in surprise and let out a yelp as a knock at the door interrupted his impromptu dance party. Collecting himself, he strolled out of the bathroom and opened the door.

"H'llo, _Louhi_."

"What the, Berwald? Shouldn't you be at the arena?" Tino asked glancing at his watch. "It's almost time-"

"St'll got a wh'le," the Swede said, letting himself in and sitting on the edge of the bed. "I t'ld ya t' be ready early s' we c'ld go t'gether."

Tino's breath jerked in a silent laugh as he smiled at the seated man. He could be an absolute sweetheart at times. "Thank you Berwald, I'm- AUGH!"

He brought a hand to his left "breast" and felt around. The damn thing was moving. He stomped over to the bathroom once again and began to try to maneuver it back into place through his turtleneck.

Berwald continued to watch him from the bed, his head cocked to one side-"Ya kn'w, I'm nev'r goin' t' get us'd t' th's."

"Ha!" Tino snorted from the fluorescently- lit sink. "And you think I will?"

"Ya c'ld jus' t'ke 't off."

"Not happening," Tino said, putting on another coat of lipstick after having fixed his bust. This whole experience was beginning to make him feel much too campy. "Not as long as I'm out there."

"'Nd how l'ng 're ya goin' 't 'be out th're?" Berwald asked, expecting a literal amount of time for an answer.

The cross-dresser took a deep breath before replying: "As long as _you're_ out there."

It hit Berwald like ton of bricks. He honestly couldn't believe his luck. Not only had he found somebody who supported his love and talent for an obscure sport, but someone willing to go as far as giving up his masculinity, if only temporarily, to ensure he had the success he'd worked so hard for. He'd be damned if he was ever going to let that go.

This couldn't wait until gold-medal night.

"Tino," he called from the adjacent bedroom.

"Hm?" came the unsuspecting reply.

"Marry me."

Tino's eyes went wide and his stomach turned to stone. Some sort of poison had formed in his blood and was making him feel queasy. He quickly tried to laugh it off, taking it as an attempt from Berwald to flatter him and joke around at the same time. Stepping out of the bathroom, he grabbed the light switch and flicked it off. "Okay Berwald, I know I'm pretty and all, but-"

His words died when he stepped out only to find the frighteningly tall Olympic athlete kneeling with his arms outstretched, face as serious and statuesque as it ever was, waiting.

A moment of unbelieving silence passed before it was broken by the Swede: "'M serious."

Tino, still understandably in shock, sincerely lacked the capacity believe it was real. "…are you talking to Louhi or Tino when you ask that?"

Berwald's brow fell from a firm line and furrowed in irritation. He was slowly beginning to feel like he had already been refused, and that Tino was just trying to stall the inevitable. "I h'ven't been datin' 'Louhi' now, h've I?"

The Finn swore he was having an out-of-body experience at that point, like he was watching himself in a movie. With his knees knocking , heart pounding, and all coherent thought having flown out the window, there was no way to stop himself, even if he wanted to.

"Berwald…" his voice cracked as he repeatedly tilted his head, trying to stop his eyes even from threatening to water (damned if he was going to have to redo his face for a third time). He grabbed one of the man's waiting hands. His reply was barely above a whisper, but was confirmed by his wig-disheveling nod. "Yes," he said, some sort of new joy bubbling up inside of him. He began to giggle, which turned to an all out haughty laugh as he repeated: "Yes, yes, a thousand times, _yes!_"

Berwald's face brightened as he seized Tino in a bone-crushing embrace. Relief washed over him as his lover-in-disguise pressed his hands against his face and brought their mouths together in the sweet suction of an eager kiss. Berwald couldn't stop there; in a fit of (albeit uncharacteristic) excitement he planted a flurry of kisses all around Tino's mouth, going to his cheeks, his forehead, and ending with a kiss on the Finn's nose knowing it would bring a slightly embarrassed but happy smile to his face. Tino gave a broad grin and looked away shyly.

"Ya kn'w," the curling star paused to put a finger beneath Tino's chin and raise his face. His lips were already pulling into a slight smirk. "Th's means y're lit'r'lly gonna be m'wife."

Tino rolled his eyes and gave a sarcastic look. "Oh ha-ha," He pressed a finger to Berwald's lower lip. "You forget- fiancé is an androgynous word....from what I can tell."

Berwald was planning to come back with a kiss before another thought interrupted the moment. "Ah, d'mn…"

"Hm? What is it?"

"L'ft th' ring b'ck in m'room at th' village."


End file.
